


Love Guides The Way (an 11x13 coda)

by elliex



Series: S11 codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 11x13 - Freeform, 11x13 coda, Casifer, Coda, Destiel - Freeform, Love Hurts coda, M/M, Season 11, Valentine's, Valentine's Day, angst with a side of hope, there is no Dean/Casifer in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coda to "Love Hurts," 11x13</p><p> </p><p>Dean purses his lips, amused. “Really? Huh…” His dimples deepen. “Then be mine, Valentine?” He takes Castiel’s hand and laces their fingers together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Guides The Way (an 11x13 coda)

+

 

Jimmy once described angel possession as being chained to a comet. Castiel understands what he meant now.

 

When Castiel said “Yes” to Lucifer, the archangel’s essence engulfed him, and his world went silent.

 

He’s not sure how much time passed before he became aware – seconds, minutes, hours, days… maybe even weeks.

 

He knows that he came back into existence with silent screams. The devil taunts him even now, allowing Castiel to flicker back into existence, only to buffet him with torrents of power.

 

His life, such as it is, is cold and lonely.

 

Castiel knows now. He made the wrong choice, though for the right reasons. Even now, he recognizes that Lucifer will only release Castiel’s body if he can possess Sam’s.

 

So Castiel resigns himself to this fate. He curls up inside the body that he’s worn for years, the one made for him by God, the one stolen by Lucifer. And he drifts.

 

Until…

 

+

 

Dean drops his duffel on the floor with a loud clunk and falls face-first onto his bed. The fight with the Qareen and his moment of rare honesty with Sam left him spent. They’d driven home in silence, except for the cassette tapes that he kept flipping over, filling the car with a steady stream of conversation-preventing music.

 

Sam had not been amused. Dean snorts just thinking of the bitch face Sammy had pulled and rolls onto his back. He flings an arm over his forehead and stares at the ceiling.

 

He tells himself not to do it, but old habits die hard.

 

“Hey, Cas?,” he whispers. “You got your ears on?”

 

He only realizes he’s holding his breath when his heart rate increases. Inhale, exhale – he forces his lungs to go through the paces as he counts down the seconds.

 

No one answers. His eyes burn, and an errant drop of moisture escapes. He rubs his face with his hands and sits upright. “He’s okay. He has to be,” he mutters to himself.

 

Three loud bangs on the door have Dean on his feet, his gun in his hand.

 

“Pizza’s ready,” Sam yells.

 

Dean grimaces, dropping his gun.

 

“Be right out,” he answers.

 

+

 

Castiel isn’t sure when the first prayers ghosted along his diminished core. When he realized what they were, he reveled in the occasional warmth, the longing, and the care, even though he had no idea who the supplicants were.

 

Soon after, the voices became more distinctive. His family’s voices were bringing him back into being.

 

But it’s Dean’s voice – gasped prayers, whispered confessions, repeated mantras – that drags him back into _knowing_.

 

Castiel thinks of green eyes glinting in the sunlight, of freckled skin, eye crinkles, and a wide smile, and he _wants_.

 

He _longs_ – enough so that the last time he noticed Dean’s prayers sliding into sleep, he expanded his consciousness to touch his friend’s. He’d wanted so much to feel Dean’s presence again, to maybe even feel Dean’s forgiveness.

 

Dean had called out “Cas!” and snapped awake, severing the connection.

 

Castiel has conserved his energy since, only reaching out with the barest of touches. He needs to be stronger, for Dean.

 

+

 

Dean eats his pizza in silence, rebuffing Sam’s attempts at conversation. His brother finally opens his laptop and scrolls through the latest news, ignoring him.

 

Dean’s relieved.

 

After dinner, Dean dumps his dishes in the sink. “Going to bed,” he announces.

 

“Your turn to do the dishes,” Sam reminds him.

 

Dean shrugs. “I’ll do ‘em in the morning.”

 

He ignores Sam’s glare and heads straight for his bedroom. Once inside, he toes off his boots and grabs his robe. He wants a shower – a long one.

 

The water’s warm and rains down on his aching muscles. Though it feels good, he showers quickly – now, all he can think of is crawling into bed and finding solace in sleep.

 

Back in his room, Dean towel dries his hair and brushes his teeth before slathering on moisturizer, rubbing extra into the deepening lines at the corners of his eyes.

 

Cas once said that such lines were the mark of a life lived well. Dean remembers the fond look in Cas’s eyes, and his heart clenches. He pushes the memory away.

 

He hangs his towel to dry and pulls on clean boxers and a tee shirt. It’s only then that he remembers his Valentine’s night out. His nose wrinkles, and he strips the bed.

 

 _Next time_ , he thinks, _I should pick someone whose cheap-ass aftershave won’t cling to my clothes._ He opens the hamper and catches a whiff of his clothes from that night. _Or cheap-ass perfume_ , he adds. He stuffs his linens in on top and secures the lid.

 

He retrieves a set of blue sheets from the cabinet and grabs his spare blanket from the chair. After his bed’s made, Dean slides between the sheets and sinks into the memory foam with a groan. Even his bones feel exhausted.

 

He stares at the ceiling. His mind races, and he resists ruminating over the Darkness or what the Qareen had said. He silently recites his top one hundred songs of all time. He just gets to “She’s Like The Wind” before he falls asleep.

 

+

 

Castiel finds Dean sitting on a familiar dock, looking out over the water.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean looks at him and smiles. The affection in his dream-face makes it hard for Castiel to breathe – if he had to breathe, that is.

 

“Hey.” He looks Castiel up and down. “You look good. Come here often?”

 

As if by magic, a chair appears beside Dean’s. He spares a moment to check his vessel, but Lucifer’s not paying him any attention, so Castiel sits down.

 

He gives Dean an honest answer. “As often as I can.”

 

Dean purses his lips, amused. “Really? Huh…” His dimples deepen. “Then be mine, Valentine?” He takes Castiel’s hand and laces their fingers together.

 

Something delicious thrums under Castiel’s skin, yet still, he hesitates. “Dean? What –”

 

“Just c’mere,” Dean says, leaning into his space. Dean’s eyes take in Castiel’s face, settling on his lips. “I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

 

Their lips meet, and Castiel knows – he _knows_ – this is what he’s waited for.

 

Dean’s fingers skim along the side of Castiel’s face, and he leans into the touch. Their lips part, and Cas is introduced to a host of new sensations that have him moaning into Dean’s mouth.

 

They’re no longer by the peaceful lake; now, they’re in Dean’s bed in the bunker. Dean tugs him close until their legs are tangled.

 

Dean’s head is tucked under Castiel’s chin. His voice trembles as he asks, “Can we just stay like this?”

 

Castiel kisses the top of his head. “Of course.” He clears his throat. “For a while, anyway.”

 

Dean lifts his head, quirking an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

 

Castiel’s confused. “We can lay here for a while, but not indefinitely.”

 

Dean’s eyes widen.

 

+

 

“Oh my god, you literal bastard – you’re in my dream!” Dean sits up and glares at Castiel.

 

Castiel looks about as amused as Dean feels. “Of course I’m in your dream, Dean.”

 

“No, I mean – “ Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “I _mean_ … you – your self – you’re really in my dream? You’re not a figment of my imagination?”

 

Castiel’s face falls. “No, I’m not. Would you prefer it if I were?”

 

The hurt in Cas’s eyes – god, Dean would move mountains to never see that again.

 

Dean’s answer is practically a growl. “Never.” He pushes Cas down on the bed and swings a leg over his hips, straddling the angel. “Never,” he repeats.

 

He claims Cas’s mouth – and this time, it’s even hotter. He’s not pretending; he’s not imagining – this is _them_ … albeit, a dream version of _them_.

 

It takes Castiel a second to catch up, but when he does – _oh boy_.

 

Dean’s lying on top of Cas, and the flushness of their bodies is _doing things_ to him. Dean shifts his pelvis, trying to get some relief, and the taut fabric of his dream jeans is _uncomfortable._ What does a guy need to do to get some naked relief around here?

Cas laughs. “What’s so funny?,” Dean asks.

 

“This is your dream, Dean,” Cas explains patiently. “We’re still clothed because _your_ subconscious still wants us to be.”

 

Dean’s brow furrows. “Dude, I solemnly swear I want you naked and writhing.” He grins. “ _Maybe_ my subconscious wants a strip tease.”

 

Castiel regards him thoughtfully. “Huh. Perhaps you are right.” Cas shifts his own hips, rubbing his own covered erection against Dean’s. “So who’s going to strip first?”

 

“Oh, that’s going to be you, angel.” Dean leans down and captures Cas’s bottom lip with his teeth. They slip back into each other, tasting and exploring.

 

Castiel’s body stiffens, and Dean wonders if he’s about to come. He pulls back because he _definitely_ wants to see his angel’s expression – but it’s not ecstasy etched in Castiel’s features. It's stark fear.

 

“Cas? Cas! What’s wrong?”

 

Castiel grabs Dean’s upper arms, his fingers digging into the muscle. “Listen to me, Dean. I – I did something stupid. When you find out… I, I’m so sorry.”

 

Those blue eyes are tear-filled, and Dean’s gut knots. “What’d you do, Cas? We’ll fix it – we always do.”

 

Cas smiles, though a tear trickles down his face. He doesn’t answer, instead kissing Dean hard and fast. “Never forget.” Castiel fades before Dean’s eyes. “Pray,” he says “I can—“

 

Castiel disappears before he finishes his sentence. Fear bubbles up inside Dean.

 

He wakes sitting straight up in his bed. His heart’s pounding so fast that he can’t breathe.

 

“Sam,” he croaks out. He practically falls out of bed and stumbles to the door. He lurches into the hall, one hand to his chest, trying to calm his raging heartbeat. He tries again: “Sam!”

 

His voice is tinny and cracks, but his brother has keen moose ears. Sam’s face appears above him, worry creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?,” Sam asks.

 

Dean’s on his hands and knees on the floor, and he wonders how that happened. The coldness of the tile seeps through his skin.

 

Sam’s hands are on his arms, and he’s being helped up. “Here, go back to bed—“

 

Dean shakes his head and breaks from his brother’s grasp. He leans against the wall and forces himself to take deep breaths. “No – It’s… it’s Cas.”

 

“What? You heard from him?” Sam’s voice is panicky now. “What’s happened?”

 

“I think… I think he said yes,” Dean says. He fights back the bile that rises just saying the words.

 

Sam’s face pales, and he takes a step back. “Wh-what?”

 

“We have to save him, Sammy.” Dean hears his voice break, and he doesn’t even care. “We have to _do_ something.”

 

Sam nods. “We will,” he agrees. He pulls his phone from his jeans pocket. “I’ll get in touch with our friends and you –“

 

He looks at Dean, and whatever he sees, it changes his entire expression. “Why don’t you try to rest a bit longer?”

 

Dean shakes his head. “No – I just … we were… um… talking. In my dream? We were talking, and then he was taken, and I just –”

 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam says. He’s using that soothing tone that Dean hates, and he knows if he looks up at his brother’s face, he’ll see exactly what Sam thinks about all of this.

 

Dean’s not sure he can handle that right now. “I – I want to pray. I … um… need to. Cas --- I think he was trying to tell me he could hear prayers when Lucy took him.”

 

He still won’t look at Sam, but he just knows his brother’s nodding. “Okay, then. You pray….” Sam hesitates. “Why don’t you come join me in the research room when you’re ready?”

 

Dean nods. “Okay.”

 

He goes back into his room, securing the door. He squares his shoulders and kneels beside his bed. Dean steeples his fingers and begins to pray.

 

 

+

 

Lucifer laughs as he wrenches Castiel from Dean’s dream.

 

“Oh, little brother,” he teases. “You have one shot to ask for help, and you make out with lover boy instead? You really are a mud-monkey at heart, aren’t you?”

 

Once more caught up in the maelstrom that is Lucifer, Castiel curls into himself, and he drifts.

 

A voice cuts through the darkness and chaos – a familiar, beloved voice that’s often joined by a chorus of other voices Castiel recognizes.

 

Castiel doesn’t dare reach back, but their words strengthen him.

 

Dean’s prayers are a constant now, and Castiel basks in them. Love will guide his way.

 

+

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I wanted to stay in canon as much as possible but still give DeanCas a nice Valentine's moment - even if it couldn't last. I hope this works for you. 
> 
> Spoiler: In this version of SPN, the Winchesters & their extended family soon defeat Lucifer and Amara. Dean and Cas spend Valentine's 2017 doing body shots with champagne and admiring their new wedding rings. 
> 
> Thanks again and Happy Valentine's Day! May you have feel lots of love every day of your life! <3


End file.
